


Ties

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2011-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clothes make the man.</p><p>(spoilers through 3x01 "The Purple Piano Project")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: some parts deal with the mostly unspecific aftermath of being attacked in a (canonical) hate crime

**Sadie Hawkins**

Blaine looked at the display of ties with growing dismay. There were so many options spread out over multiple racks and tables in the men’s department, and he had no idea where to begin. His mother always bought his ties, except for the one his grandmother inevitably sent him for Christmas each year, but it had seemed important to pick this one out himself. It was his first real dance, his first dance with a date, even if it was just a platonic one. He wanted to pick out his outfit on his own, so he’d convinced his mother to drop him off at the mall to shop alone. It was what a grown-up did; he chose his own clothes, decided how to express himself.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Faced with all of his options, though, he wasn’t so sure.

“Do you need some help, sir?” a saleswoman said as she glided up beside him. She gave him a polite smile and showed no curiosity at finding an overwhelmed teenager alone in the men’s department.

“I’m looking for a tie,” Blaine replied. He felt himself flush at how foolish that sounded, and he gestured at the expansive display. “Obviously.”

The woman’s smile became a little warmer. “Then you’re in the right place,” she said. “Is this for a special occasion?”

“A school dance.” Excitement flared through him.

“I see. I would say that’s a special occasion. I suggest pure silk.” She led him over to one of the long tables draped in a rainbow of tidy bundles of cloth. “As you can see, we have silk ties in a multitude of patterns and colors. Do you know what color you would like?”

“I don’t know. My suit is grey, but...” Blaine reached out a hand to hover over all of the gorgeous ties but didn’t touch anything; his mother had many silk dresses and had reminded him for years not to handle the fabric too much when he hugged her for fear of staining it with moisture or oils from his hands. The colors and designs in front of him were captivating: red, green, purple, pink, stripes, dots, paisley, tiny sailboats and anchors, embroidered mazes, swirls in sky blue or yellow, and simple jet black shimmering like the night. Each and every one called to him.

“Well, what color is your date is wearing? You don’t want to outshine her, and it’s always appropriate to complement her dress.”

“I don’t know what he is wearing,” Blaine told her, and he felt a thrill of pride and terror crawl across his skin at being able to say ‘he’. He had come out. He was going to the dance with a _boy_. He rocked forward a little on his toes, because beneath the terror there was the joy of freedom lifting him higher. “But we don’t need to match.”

The saleswoman’s smile didn’t so much as falter at the pronoun. “All right. It sounds like it’s a matter of personal choice. Something simple is never wrong. Maybe this one?” She pulled out a deep charcoal tie with a hint of blue threading through it.

Blaine shook his head. It was sedate, like something his father would wear. He thought about what he’d been reading about colors at style sites online. Most of it was still over his head, but he remembered that purple was supposed to complement green and hazel eyes. His gaze caught on a plum-colored tie with a tone-on-tone paisley design. The palette was muted but beautiful, sophisticated but not old, bold without being garish. It was perfect.

“This one,” he said, pulling the tie out of its place and admiring it in the light. The length of silk spilled over his hands like a ribbon of his mother’s favorite preserves swirled with cream, and Blaine beamed at it. This was the tie of someone who knew who he was.

The saleswoman’s eyebrows lifted, but she simply said, “If you’d like to see what it looks like against your skin,” and pointed him toward a mirror on a nearby counter.

Blaine walked over and draped the tie around his neck, not sure if he was allowed to knot it without purchasing it. It was the wrong color for his red sweater, but even clashing with his clothes and loose around his throat it was exactly right. It was bright and interesting. It made him look grown-up, and not a grown-up like his father but a grown-up like the stars he saw in magazines, each with their own unique styles.

He was Blaine Anderson, and this was the kind of tie that Blaine Anderson wore. He turned to the saleswoman, unable to contain his smile.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

*

Somehow even through the disaster in the parking lot, the frenzy of teachers and parents, and the hours in the emergency room, Blaine’s tie has stayed on. The knot is loose and low around his neck, but it’s still there.

Blaine has never hurt so much in his life, despite the painkillers he was given in the hospital. He can’t even catalogue the pain. Everything hurts. Every inch of him, even the parts that were untouched. Nothing feels good, not his body, not his heart. He’d had no idea just how much a person could hurt and still be walking, still be mostly whole. If this is whole. If he can _be_ whole after -

His breath is harsh and wet when he inhales, and he has to stop thinking. He has to stop hearing the heavy thud that fists make against flesh. He has to stop smelling the salt and copper of blood and tears still streaking his face. He has to _stop_.

He doesn’t meet his eyes in the mirror above his dresser as he slips the tie free. He looks instead at the limp cloth, its colors still bright despite the dusting of dirt and grit that mars its surface. It feels like forever ago he tied it around his neck before the dance, careful to get the the knot just right at the collar of his striped dress shirt. He had been so excited. He’d made sure every detail was perfect, because even if it wasn’t a real date it was still a _dance_ with a _boy_. He’d been _so_ excited.

He turns the tie over in his hands, the splint on his fingers bright white against the plum, and considers the latest addition to its design: a spattering of rust-red spots of dried blood. It’s probably from his nose, and he’s lucky more didn’t get on it. His mother’s dry cleaner might be able to get the spots out; they’ve been able to work greater miracles. They might have even been able to save the blood-stiff fabric of his shirt if the sleeve hadn’t been torn.

Blaine swallows back tears as his hands start to shake. Every part of him aches, from the bruised and abraided surface of his skin all the way to the depths of his heart. He can’t imagine how he’s going to hold his head up in school on Monday. He can’t imagine how he’s going to be able to sleep tonight. He can’t imagine how he’s going to be able to wash the blood off of his face and brush his teeth without breaking down.

To wear this tie again is unthinkable. Unthinkable.

He tosses it in the trash can beside his desk and walks away. He wishes he could burn it instead.

 

 **Dalton Academy**

The Dalton tie was a simple red and blue stripe. Blaine’s mother had turned up her nose at the poly-silk blend, but she’d admitted that it was probably wise because it would wear better for a bunch of energetic boys.

Blaine had some trouble tying it with his splinted fingers on his first day, but he refused her help and retreated to the bathroom to struggle with it. Against the white shirt it looked very dark, but it reminded him of what his father’s colleagues wore when they came over for the annual New Year’s Eve party. There was nothing exceptional about it. It was just a tie.

His fingers didn’t quite want to work, but he managed a credible half-windsor on his own and examined himself in the mirror after he slipped on the blazer. He didn’t recognize himself. Those were his hazel eyes, and that was his unruly hair tamed by gel. That was his jaw, bruised but still his, and the flat line of his mouth. But the young man in the crisp blazer and tie was someone he didn’t know. Maybe that was for the best.

His mother’s smile was approving when he came downstairs, but he felt like all eyes were on him when he walked to the car with his parents. He tried to ignore the curious glances of the neighbors getting ready for work. He knew he looked different. He wanted to melt into the ground. He wanted to be one of those chameleons his mother had never let him get as a child, able to turn all but invisible in their surroundings.

Blaine felt like he stood out like a sore thumb all the way to Dalton. They passed countless students at bus stops wearing jeans and coats, hats and hoodies and boots, and there he was in a jacket and tie as obvious as a neon sign. Different, different. He held his breath every time they had to stop by a knot of teenagers until the car was moving again.

There was paperwork at Dalton, an official welcome by the headmaster, and the ritual signing of the admission book (in which his name would forever be lopsided and shaky, thanks to the splint), and then his parents were gone and Blaine was being led to his first class by an upperclassman named Wes.

“You’ve got Mr. Dales for English first,” Wes said genially as they walked down a long, paneled hallway. “Don’t let his voice intimidate you; he’s as loud as a bullhorn, but he’s actually a big teddy bear. Just don’t stand next to him during assembly or you won’t be able to hear yourself sing.” Wes looked over and shrugged. “Although some guys prefer that.”

“I like to sing,” Blaine said for lack of any other response, and he barely registered the interest in Wes’s eyes before they were stopping at a door.

“Here we are,” Wes said, handing him some papers one by one. “Give this note to Mr. Dales. Your schedule is here, and I’m free at the same time, so look for me at lunch. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Thanks,” Blaine replied, overwhelmed but grateful, because lunch was always one of the worst parts of the school day if you didn’t know anyone.

Wes smiled back. “I think you’ll like the guys I usually sit with.”

Then he waved and was gone, and Blaine took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. His stomach was a twisting, fluttery ball of nerves at the thought of going inside, but he had to. This was his school now. This was his life now.

Class had already started, so of course everyone turned toward the door when he walked in. His breath caught in his throat, but he put on his politest company smile, despite the way it made the cut on his lip sting, and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Dales? I’m Blaine Anderson. I’m new here.”

By the time Blaine was welcomed into class, his heart was pounding at all of the curious eyes on him. He felt like he had a target on his back, a thousand targets. He was new. He was gay and hardly big enough to warn people off of bothering him. He was different. Even with a zero tolerance policy for bullying, he didn’t feel safe. He wasn’t safe. He couldn’t be.

When he took his seat, he let out a slow breath and tried not to show his unease. He had to start on the right foot and not give anyone any reason to look too closely.

But as the class progressed and the other students focused on the teacher, Blaine realized something from the backs of the boys in front of him: he didn’t _look_ different. He looked like everyone else. They looked like him. Blazers, sweaters, Dalton ties, it was all the same. They looked the _same_.

Blaine leaned back in his chair and studied his classmates in wonder. He looked like everyone else.

He wasn’t going to hide who he was, he wasn’t going to go back into the closet, but nobody had to know about his orientation unless and until he told them. Nobody outside of school would look at him in his uniform and see anything but another Dalton boy. He could be himself with his words and actions, as much as he wanted to be, but nobody outside would know.

Nobody would see beyond the uniform.

He smoothed his tie as his heart lifted beneath it in his chest. Maybe he could be safe after all.

*

Warblers practices are the best parts of the week, and Blaine always sticks around with the guys as they chat and horse around after rehearsal is finished. He isn’t quite sure where he fits in yet even after a month, but he likes these guys, and they seem to like him. So he hangs out, sometimes playing pop songs on the piano that get the others to sing with him now that his fingers are healed. Today Wes is working on some arrangement with the Council, so Blaine takes a spot on a couch instead and tries to look like he belongs there.

“ - so now I’m out forty bucks for flowers _and_ she still broke up with me,” David is saying as he collapses onto the same couch as Blaine.

“That sucks,” Jeff says with feeling.

“What do you know?” Nick says to Jeff. “You can’t even get a girl to give you her number. And the one at the mall the other week doesn’t count, because the digits she gave you went to the Westerville Sex Offender Hotline.”

Despite not really being a part of the conversation, Blaine laughs.

“Hey, do you have a girlfriend?” David turns and asks him. “And does she have a friend with no taste? Come on, give Jeff some hope.”

Blaine’s heart begins to pound, and he replies with a simple, “No.” He hopes that will be the end of it.

“Boyfriend?” Nick asks. The question is teasing but with no malice behind it.

Taking a deep breath, Blaine reminds himself he’s not going to go back into the closet and that he has already been accepted into the Warblers. There’s a policy in place to protect him from being kicked out or harrassed. They aren’t going to make him stop singing, even if they aren’t going to become friends. “Not right now,” he manages to say. They’re some of the hardest words he’s ever spoken, and he steels himself internally for their reaction.

“Well, maybe soon.” David slaps him on his shoulder and pulls off his own tie. “The Warblers are like rock stars, you know.”

And that’s that. Blaine realizes through the ringing in his ears that the other boys have gone back to ribbing Jeff about his dating woes. He just came out _and nobody cares_. They didn’t even blink.

Jeff shrugs out of his jacket and snaps it at Nick, who laughs and launches himself over the back of the couch using a pillow as a shield.

“Not again, guys!” Ethan from the Council calls from the piano. “If you break another lamp it’s coming out of your own pocket! Practice is over this time!”

David shakes his head as Jeff and Thad rocket after Nick. He takes off his blazer and lays it over the arm of the sofa.

“You know, after activities are finished you don’t have to be in uniform,” he tells Blaine. “Get comfortable. Take off the noose if you want to.”

There’s a crash behind them, but Blaine doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t have to worry about it. He doesn’t have to _worry_.

“Actually,” Blaine says with a growing, genuine smile, “I like the tie.”

 

 **The GAP**

Blaine checked his reflection in the windows of Victoria’s Secret yet again as he waited for the rest of the Warblers to arrive. His hair was under control. His blazer was sitting flat on his shoulders. His tie lay straight, the knot snugged tight against his collar. His shoes were shiny and neatly tied. He looked good. He knew he and the Warblers sounded great. He was ready. He just had to wait until they were all assembled, and then he could go in and serenade Jeremiah. Everything was going to be perfect.

He just had to wait. His heel tapping out the beat to the song in his head, he smoothed down his hair again and turned his head to the side to be sure it looked good from all directions.

“You know, if you keep paying so much attention to women’s underwear people are going to get the wrong idea about you,” Kurt remarked, strolling over to stand beside him and turning to face away out into the mall. “One way or another.”

Blaine chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not looking at the underwear.”

“Oh, I know. But I’ve learned from my brief but very insightful experience of having Finn as a brother that for most teenage guys the Victoria’s Secret catalogue is pretty much the free and socially acceptable equivalent of Playboy.”

“But I’m gay.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, and that’s why I said _wrong_ idea. They’ll either think you’re straight or a transvestite. Or both; they’re not mutually exclusive.”

Blaine tore his eyes away from his reflection and said, “ _What_?”

Smirking, Kurt just waved his hand at the display, his focus still on the mall behind Blaine. There were a heck of a lot of frilly pink bras just beyond the window. Blaine hadn’t really noticed them.

“I’m not - “ Horror changed to amusement when Blaine realized in a flash that Kurt was deliberately distracting him from his nerves. “I was making sure I look okay.”

“You look fine. The uniform is what it is, but you manage to overcome its flaws.”

Blaine looked at himself in some alarm. The uniform had flaws? No, it looked as good as always. Maybe it wasn’t the best combination of colors, navy, red, and grey, and maybe it was a little boxy, but it was fine. It made him look older, put together. It made him look confident. He knew Kurt liked to wear more edgy outfits, but Blaine liked the statement of the uniform.

“Thank you.” Blaine rolled his shoulders a little, getting the nervous energy out. This was going to be great. He was going to sing, and then Jeremiah was going to smile at him and thank him for the serenade. And then there could be some hand-holding and even a little kissing after they went to get coffee or maybe an early dinner. It was going to be amazing. The guys just had to get there so he could sing, and when he started to sing he’d stop being nervous, because that was how it always worked.

“Although...” Kurt frowned a little.

“What?”

“Here.” After a second’s hesitation, Kurt reached out and tugged at the knot of Blaine’s tie. “It’s not lying quite right. The dimple seems to be insisting it wants to be inverted.” Narrowing his eyes at it, he adjusted the fabric for a few seconds more. Blaine was grateful, because his outfit, his whole presentation, would be totally off if his tie wasn’t right. “There. I think that’s as good as it will get without retying, but he works at the GAP, not on Savile Row. It will do.” Kurt dropped his hands and turned his attention back out at the mall.

“Thanks,” Blaine told him. He really meant it. The butterflies in his stomach would be threatening to overwhelm him if not for Kurt and his excellent eye for detail.

Kurt gave him one of his tight, enigmatic smiles, the kind Blaine always wished he understood. “Just be yourself,” he said gently and met Blaine’s gaze squarely for the first time during the conversation. The clarity of his eyes was arresting, and Blaine felt like he was laid bare instead of dressed to perfection. Then Kurt shrugged and broke the moment, looking away again. “He’ll never know what hit him.”

Blaine found it hard to swallow, and he wondered if Kurt had pulled the tie tighter while he was trying to fix it, even though he didn’t think Kurt had touched more than the knot.

“Don’t fuss,” Kurt told him as Blaine brought his hands up toward it to try to loosen it.

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“Fashion is pain, Blaine. It looks perfect. Do you want the tie to un-dimple again?”

“No. Thanks.” Blaine saw a new group of familiar faces appearing in the mirror of the window, and he turned from his reflection to greet the others as they arrived. He pasted on his easiest smile and shoved his nerves to the back of his mind. He had more important things to focus on.

“Okay, Blaine,” Wes said, the Warblers gathering around him. “We’re all here. When you’re ready.”

Blaine looked out at his fellow Warblers, his _friends_ , all there to back him, to help him find his happiness. They were a cluster of navy and red in a sea of shoppers, and he felt the warmth of their smiling faces. He couldn’t ask for a better show of support.

He rolled his shoulders again and straightened his blazer. He was a Dalton boy, one of the Warblers, their lead soloist. He was one of them, and they were behind him. He was confident. He was prepared. He knew how to do this. They were going to back him up, and he was going to shine.

Blaine nodded at Wes. “Thanks, guys. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

He just wished his tie felt right.

*

Blaine is the biggest idiot in the world. He is the biggest, most clueless, most foolish, most _idiotic_ idiot in the entire world, possibly in all of history. _Probably_ in all of history. The serenade had been a disaster. The performance itself had gone well, but nothing else had. Certainly nothing with Jeremiah.

Not that there’s anything with Jeremiah _to_ go well.

Sighing, Blaine lets his head fall back against the passenger seat of Kurt’s car. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world,” he says.

“That’s not true,” Kurt replies easily. “I’ve listened to talk radio; at least half of the hosts are more of an idiot than you.”

Blaine smiles despite himself and pulls at his tie to loosen it. “Thank you,” he says with a friendly edge of sarcasm.

“You’re welcome,” Kurt says, and Blaine smiles a little more. It’s not really a happy smile, but it’s something. He might have lost most of his self-respect and all hope at ever having a boyfriend, but at least he hasn’t lost this.

They pull out of the parking lot and away from the mall, the mall where Blaine can never go again. If the GAP would allow him through the doors, the shattered remnants of his pride would never even let him go near. He’d failed. He’d failed spectacularly.

Blaine sighs again. “I can’t believe I serenaded him,” he says. “And he didn’t _like_ it.”

“He works at the GAP, Blaine; how refined can his taste be?”

Blaine looks over at Kurt. Kurt is a great friend, his best friend, the kind of friend Blaine hadn’t known he was missing until he had one. If he had to make an utter and complete fool of himself, at least he has friends like Kurt and the Warblers to support him, even if he’d actually be happier if none of them had seen him crash and burn like that. Some things you just don’t want other people to know.

He wishes he hadn’t made a fool of himself. It’s mortifying. He was supposed to be cool and persuasive. He was supposed to get the boy. That was the plan: to make a grand, romantic gesture and then get the boy. “I don’t know where I went wrong,” he says, mostly to himself. “We looked good. We sounded good. Jeff didn’t even go sharp.” He tugs at his tie again.

“You mis-read some signs, that’s all,” Kurt tells him.

Blaine nods and lets out a long breath. He feels like he might be sick. He really screwed up. “I’m such an idiot.” The biggest idiot in the world.

“It happens to the best of us.” Kurt shrugs.

“Yeah.” Blaine fiddles with his seatbelt as Kurt drives. He was such a fool, pining away for an older guy who clearly wasn’t even attracted to him at all. What had he been thinking? Coffee wasn’t a date. Conversation didn’t mean a love connection. He should just give up on the thought of having a boyfriend entirely; obviously he was terrible at even the basics of romance. Maybe he should become a monk. Monks sang, didn’t they? Probably not Katy Perry, though, but he might be able to convince them.

He just doesn’t understand where he went wrong. He sounded great, he knows he did. And he’s not unattractive, especially in the uniform. Girls like the uniform, anyway. Don’t guys like the uniform? No, he knows they do. He’s seen the way their eyes linger over his shoulders in the blazer before flicking up to his face. Guys do like it. Just not Jeremiah. Just not the guy Blaine had decided to sing to.

He is supposed to know how to do these things. He’s a leader. He has charisma. Hasn’t his time with the Warblers proven that?

“Blaine,” Kurt says gently when they stop at a traffic light.

Blaine looks over at him.

“Just take it off,” Kurt says, and Blaine realizes he’s been fighting with his tie, loosening and tightening the knot around his neck.

When Blaine doesn’t move, Kurt reaches out and slips the knot free with a flick of two fingers, leaving the tie hanging down Blaine’s chest. Something comes loose inside of Blaine, unwelcome and unbidden but freeing nonetheless. He feels better, somehow, and better still when he pulls the tie from his collar and undoes the top button of his shirt. The pressure in his chest eases. He doesn’t have to be perfect, not right now, not with Kurt.

“Okay?” Kurt asks.

Blaine nods. “I’m fine. Just an idiot.”

“Yes, well. It’s not the end of the world,” Kurt tells him with a smile, and then his attention switches back to the road as the light changes.

“I know,” Blaine says. As he twists the tie in his hands he realizes it’s true. He isn’t perfect. He’s never going to be perfect. Maybe he’ll never be the suave, confident leader in the blazer he pretends to be, or at least maybe that’ll never be more than only one part of him, battling it out with the idiot who gets romance all wrong.

But he will just keep trying.

 

 **McKinley High Courtyard**

Blaine checked his tie in the visor mirror of Wes’ car for the thousandth time. It was still straight. Good.

“You know, Blaine, Kurt’s not going to be looking at your tie,” Thad said from the back seat. He leaned forward over the console. “He’s going to be looking at your face, and you already know he likes that.”

“God knows why,” Trent muttered, and Thad sat back and elbowed him.

“This is Kurt we’re talking about,” Wes said calmly. “Of course he’ll be looking at the tie.”

A fresh spike of ice-cold nerves shot through Blaine, and he flipped open the mirror again. “You’re right. He will. He cares about that kind of thing. Should I re-tie it?” he said. “Just in case?”

Wes reached over and put the visor back up against the roof of the car. Without it in front of his eyes, Blaine could see the expanse of the McKinley High parking lot spread out in front of them, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“How much longer?” Trent asked.

Checking his watch, Wes said, “Three minutes. We should get into position.”

Blaine nodded and opened the door. He took a deep breath and looked up at the bright sky. He could do this.

“Kurt’s going to love it,” Wes told him quietly as they waited for the other Warblers to climb out of their cars. “You know he is.”

“I know,” Blaine said. “I’m not worried about him.” He wasn’t. Kurt was his boyfriend, and he loved grand gestures, or if he didn’t love all of them he at least was fond enough of Blaine that he didn’t mind. At the very worst, Blaine was going to get an eye-roll and some good-natured teasing, and even that would make Blaine feel good, because Kurt’s teasing always made Blaine feel warm inside from the attention and the fond way Kurt looked at him while giving it to him. He wasn’t worried about Kurt at all.

Blaine’s heart skipped a beat, and certainly not in a good way, when two boys in letter jackets walked along on the other side of the lot. That was what was making him nervous. Kurt was back at McKinley, and as much as Blaine wanted him to be happy and as much as he believed Kurt when he said that he was going to be safe, there was something about being here, about declaring himself _here_ that made Blaine’s skin crawl. He rubbed absently at his fingers and watched the boys cross the parking lot.

“Second thoughts?” Wes asked, frowning at him.

“No.” Blaine was going to do this. He was going to sing to Kurt, because it was _important_ , _Kurt_ was important, and Blaine really wanted to sing to him. He wanted to send him off on his first day at school knowing that Blaine would do anything for him, that Blaine wasn’t going anywhere, that Blaine wasn’t going to hide or change his feelings, that Blaine would support him no matter what he chose to do. So Blaine was going to sing, and he was going to do it in front of the school because Kurt was the bravest person Blaine knew, and Blaine wasn’t going to back off from making a huge declaration through song just because of his own history. If Kurt could face these people every day, proud and himself, then Blaine could certainly do it once.

He was only a little ashamed of the relief he felt when he led the Warblers toward the courtyard and caught sight of their reflection in one of the school windows. He wasn’t alone; he was just the leader of a small army of boys in navy and red. None of them fit in. They all stood out for being strangers singing at a school that wasn’t theirs. He was just another one of them, the front man with the hearts in his eyes, but still just one in the crowd.

Blaine smoothed his tie and re-buttoned his blazer. “Okay?” he asked Wes.

“Kurt will be proud,” Wes told him, adjusting the cuffs of his own blazer, and Blaine smiled and took a deep breath, settling into the calmness that always came to him when he was performing. Kurt would be proud, and Blaine would be fine.

He wasn’t doing this alone.

*

“You look amazing,” Blaine says as Kurt slides into his car after school, his top hat in his hands and that crazy, wonderful straitjacket all locked up again. It’s not the first thing he means to say, but the image of Kurt smiling at him with tears in his eyes has been burned into his brain all day. He had gotten it right. He had made this incredible boy happy. His incredible _boyfriend_.

Kurt smiles at him, looking not-so-secretly thrilled. “Thank you.”

“You do.” Blaine reaches out to touch the brim of Kurt’s hat. “I’m kind of jealous that I won’t get to see your outfits every day.”

“You should be,” Kurt says. “So many pieces have been languishing in my closet these past months for lack of opportunity to wear them.”

“Well, now you’ll have time.” Blaine’s voice catches at the reality of _why_ , of Kurt being here, of Kurt not being at Dalton with him, and he toys with Kurt’s hat as a distraction.

“Do you want to try it on?” Kurt asks, lifting the hat toward him.

“No, I - “ Blaine breaks off with a laugh. He looks up and gestures at his uniform. “I don’t think it really goes, do you?”

Kurt squints at him as if picturing it. “No,” he admits.

Blaine tries to imagine himself wearing the top hat at school, out at the mall, at the Lima Bean. He can’t see it. About the only way he can think about wearing a top hat is with proper morning dress for a fancy wedding, and that’s not at all what Kurt is doing. Kurt is standing out; Blaine would be exchanging one uniform for another.

“It suits you,” Blaine tells him, because it does. It’s perfectly Kurt, unique and special.

Kurt smiles at him, his eyes so bright it’s hard for Blaine to meet them, and then he’s catching Blaine’s tie and pulling him to lean across the console. Kurt meets him there, his other hand coming up to Blaine’s jaw.

“ _You_ suit me,” Kurt says, and tugs a little bit more on Blaine’s tie to bring him in for a kiss.

Blaine smiles into the kiss, happy because Kurt is happy and because at least a little of that is because of Blaine.

Kurt doesn’t need to know that Blaine had any extra nerves before his performance. All Kurt needs to know is that he was there for him. _Is_ there. Will always be there.

 

 **Prom**

The tuxedo store was quiet late on a Friday afternoon; Blaine chose the time specifically for that reason, for the likelihood of not being surrounded by groups of McKinley football players, but he also chose it for the fact that Kurt had family dinner at home and couldn’t go with him. Blaine trusted Kurt’s fashion sense as much as he trusted his heart, which was completely, but this was something Blaine needed to do alone.

The store was tucked into a strip mall, and it wasn’t small, but the racks and rows of tuxedos and suits, mostly black but also white and grey and for some reason red and purple and _yellow_ , made it seem dark and cramped. Blaine felt claustrophobic as soon as he stepped inside, the bell jangling behind him.

“I’ll be right out,” a man’s voice came from the back; there was a door open on the rear wall that seemed to lead to some sort of stock room or workshop. “Take a look around.”

“Thank you,” Blaine called back and walked slowly around the room while he waited. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his cardigan as he took in his options. There were so many. Shawl collars, wide lapels, double-breasted, vests, cummerbunds, tails, each of them in an array of colors, one more eye-catching than the next. Even the blacks and greys had patterns and shining threads woven into the fabric. Every one seemed to scream “look at me” louder than the last.

Blaine breathed in slowly through his nose to fight the threat of panic rising in him. Obviously the front of the store held the more outrageous (“interesting” his mind also supplied) options. He just had to find the traditional tuxedos at the back. Traditional was always appropriate. Blaine looked good in classic styles, anyway, and he knew Kurt liked him in them. He’d called Blaine “dreamy old Hollywood perfection” late one night on the phone when he’d been so sleepy his usual filter had been all but gone, and Blaine was happy to take the opportunity to give his boyfriend a little of what he wanted. It was Kurt’s prom, after all.

Buoyed by his thoughts, Blaine hummed to himself as he flicked through the racks of black tuxes. There were still a bunch of options in terms of cut and style, but these were what he was looking for. Classic. Simple. Not flashy. Nothing to draw the eye but a beautifully cut suit.

“Sorry about that,” the shopkeeper said as he bustled out into the front of the shop. He was an older man, a little portly and with glasses so low they were threatening to slip off. “I was halfway through sorting orders, and if I’d stopped in the middle I would have had to start all over again.” He re-seated his glasses on his nose and gave Blaine a quick look from head to toe. “Now, what can I do for you? Let me guess. Prom?”

“Yes. At McKinley.”

The man nodded. “Do you have something in mind? Or did your date give you instructions? Some of them do.” He smiled knowingly.

“No, I’m on my own,” Blaine told him. He realized suddenly that that probably set him apart; Finn was planning to go with Carole, and he knew the guys at Dalton routinely went in a group to pick out tuxes if they were going to formal dances with their girlfriends. “I was thinking something classic. Sleek.”

“You’re in the right section for that.” The man gestured around them. ‘Do you know what color she will be wearing?”

Blaine shook his head, not quite able to form words. He’d forgotten about the date questions from the last time. The last time... He shook his head again, clearing his thoughts. This wasn’t the last time. This was Kurt. This was prom with Kurt.

“Pink seems very popular for dresses this year. If it’s pink, we might need a swatch to make sure your vest or tie doesn’t clash; the young ladies don’t like it when their prom pictures are ruined by a salmon tie when they’re wearing magenta. Other colors are more forgiving, but pink...” He shook his head, and Blaine could see it, because Kurt would complain about clashing, too. Not that he would even let them out of the front door if they clashed.

“I really don’t know,” Blaine admitted, because Kurt wouldn’t tell him a _thing_. If he were being honest, it was making him a little nervous. Kurt always looked amazing, but he so rarely dressed quietly. Blaine loved that about him, at least he usually did. Now it was making his heart pound in his chest. “I don’t think it will be pink.” It probably wouldn’t be pink. He _hoped_ it wouldn’t be pink.

“All right. Well, let’s find a silhouette you like. You can always come back and change the tie color later when she tells you.”

Blaine glanced over at the rack of pre-tied bow ties on the counter, their shiny surfaces taunting him with their bright colors. Red, purple, electric blue. He couldn’t wear one of them. He couldn’t. He was going to go with Kurt because it was _Kurt_ , but he couldn’t wear something like that. They’d have enough eyes on them as it was.

“Black,” he blurted out. “Black goes with everything. I’ll wear a black tie. Something simple and elegant. Understated.” Safe. He forced a smile from years of practice, and the shopkeeper seemed to believe his cool confidence, because he pulled out his tape measure.

A half hour later, Blaine was finished, and he tried not to look like he was fleeing as he made his way to the front of the store. The man followed him, showing him out.

“Thank you for your help,” Blaine said as he got his hand on the door handle. It was only right to be polite.

“You’re welcome. I wish all of you young men were so aware of what looks good on them. You chose very well. I’m sure she will be very happy to be on your arm.”

“He,” Blaine finally, _finally_ corrected as he walked through the door out into the fresh air. He gulped in a breath and tipped his face up into the setting sun, relieved to be finished and able to put aside his worries for a little while longer. “And I hope he will.”

*

Blaine stands just inside the doorway of Kurt’s room as Kurt removes his jacket with surprisingly steady hands. It has been an awful night and a wonderful one all at once, and yet Kurt still is standing there unbowed by the hurts he was forced to endure. Blaine is amazed by him. Blaine is awed by him. Blaine is totally head-over-heels crazy about him.

Kurt hangs up his jacket and puts it in his closet. His shoulders look even broader somehow without the coat, but his waist looks willow-thin as defined by the kilt. With his boots off and his feet bare he’s less imposing. The corner of his mouth is tight, like he’s holding something in, and Blaine longs to kiss it away.

Sometimes the Kurt in Blaine’s head feels like a superhero, larger than life, especially when he does things like going back into the dance to face down all of the people who hurt him, but at the end of the day he’s just Kurt. Hard and soft, strong and vulnerable, sharp-tongued and warm-hearted. He’s Kurt.

“You can come in further than that,” Kurt says quietly as he seats himself in front of his dressing table and starts to remove his tie. He handles it delicately. “You know it’s fine as long as the door is open. Tonight, my dad would probably even let us shut the door most of the way.”

“I don’t want to push it,” Blaine says, but he does come over to stand next to Kurt. He puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, just two fingertips, actually, to feel his muscles and tendons move beneath the cloth of his shirt. It’s Kurt. It’s Kurt. He’s okay.

“When are you going to believe he doesn’t actually want to hurt you?” Kurt asks.

“When I stop seeing him thinking about a shotgun every time he catches us kissing.” Blaine trails his fingers across Kurt’s back as Kurt slips his tie free and places it on the table. He’s not really worried about Mr. Hummel, though, not tonight; there are worse things out there. Things that can make Kurt sob and stand taller and stronger than his years and so many other things he shouldn’t have to do.

“He knows you’re good for me.” Kurt stands up, and Blaine takes a half-step back to give him room to move. Kurt just takes a half-step forward, back into his space. He watches Blaine’s eyes for a long moment; his own are dark and tinged with sadness, but he smiles a little as he reaches up to work at the knot of Blaine’s tie. “You look very handsome tonight,” he says. “I know I told you that earlier, but it’s worth repeating.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says, swallowing as Kurt slips the knot free and pulls the tie from his neck. His mouth is dry, and not just from Kurt’s touch. “I’m nothing compared to you, though.”

“You look _handsome_ ,” Kurt tells him. He flicks open the top button of Blaine’s shirt, and Blaine’s hands come up of their own volition to rest at Kurt’s waist. “Elegant. Classic. Perfect,” he says. He draws the tips of his fingers along Blaine’s cheek, smiling a little more. “Not all of us have to stand out.”

Blaine leans in to kiss him to take and receive comfort, to be where he wants to be, but in the pit of his stomach, in the depths of his heart, he feels like he let Kurt down. He aches with it.

He’d wanted them to blend into the crowd. He’d suggested leaving after the vote. Even though he stepped out into the middle of everyone to dance with Kurt, it had been a last resort, born of the horror of the situation instead of the simple joy of wanting to dance together. And he _loves_ dancing with Kurt. He just hadn’t wanted them to be a target.

Except when he was performing, when he always wants every scrap of attention he can get, Blaine hadn’t wanted to catch anyone’s eye tonight. He'd wanted to blend in.

But Kurt, because he wants to or because he has no choice about it, because he is brave and bright and doesn't hide, because it is who he is, always stands out. He’s always out front, never in the background. He’s always a target. He’s always himself. Always.

Blaine holds Kurt tighter and kisses his apologies against Kurt's lips.

He had been at Kurt’s side as much as he could possibly be tonight, but he still feels like he let Kurt face things alone.

 

 **Theme Park**

His outfit for the job at the theme park was a disaster in polyester: the shirt bright orange, the tie pale blue, the pants white, and the whole thing _incredibly_ hot. Blaine was soaked with sweat by the time he hit the stage for his first show each day, and the best thing about his job, besides getting paid to sing, was that there were showers in the dressing area so that he could get clean before he changed back into his street clothes. Apart from seeing Kurt, that shower was the best part of his day each day, and it had only been two weeks. As the summer got hotter, he was pretty sure the shower was going to inch up even higher on that list.

Most of the cast took the opportunity to clean up, so by the time he reached the green room to pick up his bag from his locker a bunch of them were sitting around on the couches drinking water and chatting before they left. He hadn’t made any real friends in the cast yet, but they seemed pretty cool. They joked around and worked hard at the same time. Enough of the guys were out that Blaine didn’t feel like he had to be on his guard. It was nice.

He flopped down on a chair by two of the dancers from the big closing number and opened a bottle of water. He drank half of it before he followed their gaze to where one of the other dancers was unsuccessfully trying to drape herself over the lap of one of the male singers.

“Pretty sad, right?” Chelsea said to him.

“I don’t know why she’s going after him,” Blaine said with a shake of his head as Ted pushed Fiona’s legs off of his and kept talking to the guy next to him. “He’s obviously not interested.”

“He’s single, straight, and has a pulse,” Dana replied. “That’s all she cares about.”

“Those are some high standards,” Chelsea said with a roll of her eyes.

Dana put her hand on Blaine’s arm. “I’m warning you, Blaine, if she comes for you, tell her you have a girlfriend. Tell her you’re _married_. And then walk away as fast as you can.”

“I could just tell her I’m gay,” he said with a shrug.

“Nah, that’s just cruel,” Chelsea said, laughing.

Blaine frowned a little. “Why is that cruel? It’s true.”

Chelsea blinked, and she and Dana both focused on him, their eyes taking him in from head to toe.

“Really?” Dana asked, and Blaine nodded. “You don’t look gay. I mean, not that people have to ‘look’ gay, but look at you.” She waved a hand at his outfit.

He glanced down at his stretched-out grey t-shirt and cargo shorts. There wasn’t anything wrong with them; he looked like all of the Warblers had at Thad’s pool party the week before.

Before he could answer Chelsea smacked Dana’s arm and said, “Way to stereotype.”

“I just mean it isn’t obvious,” Dana said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s okay,” Blaine said with automatic politeness, though it rankled somehow. “But I am. Gay. I have a boyfriend.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about Fiona,” Chelsea said with smile. “But watch out for Greg if he finds out. He won’t care about the boyfriend.”

“Well, I do; I’m in love with him. So Greg’s out of luck,” Blaine told her, managing to smile back.

*

Blaine takes a little longer than usual in the shower and styles his hair to perfection in his bedroom mirror. He wants to look nice. He wants to look polished. He’s going to dinner with Kurt, and he wants to look his best.

He slips into his new linen shorts and blue cotton shirt and gives himself a critical once-over in the mirror as he buttons up the shirt and tucks it in. They fit well, skimming his body without being unpleasantly tight, and the navy-and-cream braided belt is bold, a statement but not too much of one. A cream-colored summer tie completes the look, and he knots it easily before checking it in the mirror, too. He nods at his reflection.

He pulls out his top-siders automatically but then goes into the back of his closet for a pair of brown dress sandals he’d worn to a summer beach wedding last year with his parents. They’re a little stiff, but they look good. He looks good. Put-together. Like he’s making an effort.

Like he’s going on a date. A date with his _boyfriend_.

The doorbell rings, and he jogs down the steps to answer it. He tells himself his heart is pounding from the run as he opens the door.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at Kurt, who stops and stares at him. He’s in a pair of dark jeans, a green shirt, and one of those light summer scarves he somehow makes look perfectly reasonable despite it being swelteringly hot and humid outside.

“I feel under-dressed,” Kurt says in surprise, taking in Blaine’s outfit and fidgeting with the hem of his own shirt. “I assumed you’d be in those ratty shorts you’ve been living in the past month.”

“I thought it was time for something new. You always look great, and I don’t want to let you down.” Blaine glances down at himself and wonders if he’s gone too far. The belt, maybe. Maybe the belt is too much. And the sandals. He should be wearing shoes that cover his toes. Toes are kind of weird, at least at dinner. Maybe toes should be covered during meals. What does he know? _Kurt_ would know. Kurt _does_ know, and he thinks Blaine’s an idiot.

Kurt just shakes his head like he can read Blaine’s mind and holds out his arm. “You never let me down,” he says. “But I’m changing our reservations. I’m not wasting your outfit on Breadstix. We’re going somewhere with actual candles and proper tablecloths. After we go home so I can change.”

Blaine links his arm through Kurt’s and feels his heart lift in his chest like a helium balloon coming loose from its string. Kurt likes his outfit. Kurt likes him. Kurt _loves_ him. “It’s a date,” he says.

He knows better than to offer Kurt his hand when they finally get to the (new) restaurant, because Lima is Lima, but he holds the door for Kurt and enjoys the smile Kurt flashes him over his shoulder as much as the view he gets of Kurt walking ahead of him, now impeccably pressed and gorgeous as usual in a far less casual outfit.

“We have a reservation for Hummel,” Kurt says to the greeter, and she leads them to a table in the center of the room. It’s nice, far nicer than Breadstix, but the table will be noisy from the other diners and servers waiting on them.

“I’m sorry, but may we have that one over there?” Blaine asks her. “It’s more romantic.”

He hears Kurt inhale sharply, but when Blaine glances over Kurt’s head is high and his cheeks only a little flushed as the greeter takes them to the table off by the side, where it’s more intimate and quiet. She leaves them with the menus after a curious look between them, and Blaine very deliberately reaches across the table to offer Kurt his hand beside the glowing tea light.

Kurt eyes the room so quickly that Blaine wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it, but then he places his hand in Blaine’s. “Not that I’m complaining, let me be clear,” he says, studying Blaine’s face, “but what’s going on tonight?”

Blaine drops his eyes to Kurt’s bow tie, the fabulous clockwork one that Kurt keeps in a special place in his drawer, and contemplates his answer. He loves Kurt, he wants to be able to show his heart, he wants to enjoy the simple pleasure of being together on a date, he wants to be able to express himself like everyone else gets to. All of these things are true, but what he says is, “The people at work didn’t think I’m gay.”

“What? Even after you told them?” Kurt asks, frowning.

“No. Before. They believed me after.”

“Well, if you didn’t tell them, how would they know?”

“I don’t know.” Blaine’s chest hurts, and he realizes that he’s angry about it. That’s what he’s feeling: angry. Angry that he has to _tell_ people. Angry that if he walks down the sidewalk with Kurt and somehow manages to keep his heart off of his face people don’t know. They don’t know that he’s gay. They don’t know that he’s in love. They don’t know that he’s different from the majority of the people around and that he’s okay with that. He doesn’t need to dress up in body glitter and chaps and walk down main street, but he’s _okay_ being himself, at least most of the time. He has Kurt, and he’s _happy_.

But people don’t see that. They just see a guy, and he could be anyone.

That used to feel good. When did that stop feeling good?

“Blaine, you like sports, you sing more pop music than the Top 40s station, and you dress like you belong in a J. Crew catalogue,” Kurt says, squeezing his hand. “People read from that what they want.”

“But that’s not all that I am,” Blaine tells him, wanting so badly for Kurt to understand, but maybe Kurt can’t because he never gets the chance to hide himself. His problem with perception is entirely different.

Kurt smiles at him. “I know. And I, for one, appreciate your sometimes hidden depths.”

Kurt tucks his foot against Blaine’s beneath the table, and it suddenly seems a little silly to be worrying about what other people think when Kurt’s right there across from him, glowing in the candlelight. Kurt, who knows him better than anyone. Kurt, who loves him.

“Thank you,” he says and lets go of his worries to focus on enjoying their date instead.

 

 **McKinley**

Blaine stood beside his bed and looked at the two outfits laid out there.

One was preppy and simple: a medium blue polo shirt, dark jeans, and pair of sneakers. It was the kind of thing he wore on the weekends or to a casual evening in with Kurt, the sort they’d enjoyed many times over the summer, making dinner for the family and working on Kurt’s musical. It looked good on him, would get him some admiring glances (most importantly from Kurt), and would probably be more flattering than the clothes of the majority of his soon-to-be-classmates at McKinley, but it wasn’t anything more special than that.

The other outfit... the other outfit was something else. Black shirt. Red pants. White belt. Shiny tie shoes. A striped bow tie Blaine still couldn’t quite believe he’d ordered online. His gaze lingered on it, and he rubbed his fingers over his mouth, his heart pounding.

The ensemble wasn’t anything like he usually wore, or at least not much like it. It was preppy, sure, but bright. Bold. Eye-catching. It wasn’t even really like what Kurt wore, apart from the tie, which Kurt would either love or call an unforgivable affront to fashion. It was a look of Blaine’s own.

Blaine sank down on his desk chair and stared at them. One option was safe; the other was a statement. One option was classic; the other was daring. One option would let his performance speak for itself; the other would add a whole new dimension to the song.

Then there was the song itself. He wasn’t just concerned about how good it was going to be, though obviously he was going to give it his all like he always did, because performance gave him a rush like no other. This song was more than that. He was going to perform - again - in front of the students at McKinley, but this time he would be one of them. He would be there not just as Kurt’s boyfriend but as Blaine Anderson, junior. One of them.

After today he could be that guy who serenaded Kurt Hummel in the courtyard, or he could be Blaine Anderson, who made an impression on his first day not just through his song but also walking down the halls with his head high, not hiding the things that made him happiest, the things that made him himself. He could be _Blaine_.

Blaine picked up the bow tie and held it in both hands. It was surprisingly light for such an important object. It was also _fabulous_. He loved it. He didn’t know if Kurt would, he hoped Kurt would, but Blaine really, really did.

He _loved_ it.

Blaine met his eyes in the mirror and knew what his decision was. That was it. He could do this. He was going to do this. Subtlety and safety be damned. He was wearing the tie.

He didn’t want to hide. He had cast off his blazer and was transferring to spend every day with Kurt, and he was going to be out and proud in more than just words. He was going to show it every day, in the boy he loved, in the clothes he wore. He was going to walk through those halls like he owned them, because he _did_ , every bit as much as the jocks and the geeks and the stoners.

It was a risk. enough of one that butterflies threatened to form in his stomach, but it was his to take. Kurt was undeniably himself, and Blaine was going to be right there with him. He was going to express himself. He was going to _be_ himself. He was going to wear the bow tie, even if Kurt didn’t like it. Because it was part of who he was or at least who he was trying to be.

He was Blaine Anderson, and he was going to McKinley High.

*

“You’re full of surprises today,” Kurt says with a smile that afternoon as they settle into their seats at the Lima Bean.

“The chocolate chip ones were warm,” Blaine says, putting down his plate of cookies and nudging it into the middle of the table in the hope he can tempt Kurt with them. “Warm chocolate chip trumps room temperature kitchen sink.”

Kurt’s hand edges a little toward the plate, but he says, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” Blaine takes a bite of cookie and sighs with pleasure as the warm chocolate oozes in his mouth. He was so right.

“The transfer. The song.” Kurt gestures at him, a simple flick of his fingers encompassing so much. “The outfit.”

Blaine leans back and crosses one leg over the other. Kurt sounds a little confused but not actually unhappy, so Blaine isn’t too worried. “You miss the blazer already?” he asks, nudging Kurt’s leg with his toe.

Kurt laughs and shakes his head. He also draws his leg back, probably to keep Blaine from leaving marks on his pants. “You know I don’t,” Kurt says. “Of course I don’t. You just surprised me.”

“Maybe that was the point,” Blaine tells him. He says it with a smile, but Kurt grows more serious.

“Blaine, I know you’re all about making big statements, and you know I at least occasionally love that about you, but like I told you earlier you don’t have to do any of this for me.”

“I’m not, Kurt,” Blaine says honestly. “It’s for me.”

Kurt studies his eyes for a long moment and then raises his eyebrow in a subtle shift in tone from concern to acceptance. “I didn’t realize you even owned a bow tie,” he says and takes a sip of his coffee. “I don’t remember seeing any when I reorganized your closet this summer.”

Blaine makes a show of straightening his tie, partly to cover the way his pulse is skittering and partly to make Kurt’s eyes crinkle with amusement, which they do. “It’s new. I’m trying them out.”

“Them?” Kurt asks.

Blaine thinks of the box sitting on his dresser; he might have gone a little overboard with his order the other night. “Yes, them.”

Kurt’s mouth twitches, and he sips at his coffee. “I’m intrigued.”

“In a good way?” Blaine can’t help but ask. He doesn’t need Kurt’s approval, but he pretty much is desperate for it anyway.

“As long as you’re not doing it because you think I want you to, then yes, in the best way,” Kurt replies. He smiles, his eyes light and delighted, and it warms Blaine to his core. Kurt’s almost always been supportive of him, and here he is again being both an inspiration and a safety net at the same time.

“I’m not. I’m just not hiding anymore,” Blaine says.

Kurt just looks at him for a long, soft, thoughtful moment and then blinks his public face back on. “In that outfit you certainly aren’t,” he says with a grin, and Blaine grins back and nudges his leg again, because he knows everything Kurt isn’t saying right now. He knows Kurt gets it.

Maybe he’ll decide down the line that his new ties aren’t his thing and he’ll try something different, but right now Blaine likes them. They make him feel like he has his own voice. They make him feel visible and proud. They make him feel like he’s showing the world an important part of himself.

He’s Blaine Anderson, and he wants the world to know it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Ties by flaming_muse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621261) by [originally reads (originally)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/pseuds/originally%20reads)




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